Attachment
by Show-ki
Summary: Cap and Ironman are missing. The Avengers are away on a mission. Pepper is trying to pull together Stark Industries. So who's left to look after little Peter? Why, none other than the God of Mischief himself, Loki. Mentions of Superfamily, fluffy fluff. Characters may be a bit OOC, unintentionally.
1. Attached

Three months, 5 days, 2 hours ago, Captain America and Ironman, aka, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, went missing while on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D, leaving their 5 year old son, Peter, in the care of the Avengers...But by some unusual twist of plot, the child was left under the watch of Loki Laufeyson. That's right. Loki.

Of course, it wasn't as utterly foolish as it sounded. Loki was already the father of three- they were a horse, a snake and a half-corpse, albeit, but he was still a parent. Though, there was no real choice in the matter. Pepper was away, and had been away, for several weeks trying to resolve the issue of what would happen to Stark Industries if Tony was not found. The Avengers had a new villain to take care of, and couldn't under any circumstances bring young Peter. Darcy and Jane had fought to accompany them, and Eric, of course, had work. Which left no other candidates for babysitting other than Loki and Jarvis. This was going to be an interesting few weeks.

So there they were- Peter stood in front of Loki, his shoulders slumped, mop of brown hair a complete mess. The kid hadn't been the same since his dads had gone missing. Loki could kind of relate to how he was feeling... After he found out his life had been a complete lie, he fell apart for a few days, especially after Odin fell ill. Of course, that was back in Asgard. Here in Midgard, there were much better ways to put up with stress, anxiety, and depression. For example, what Loki usually fell back on when he was feeling crappy (90% of the time). Ice Cream and television.

"Peter Parker," the god spoke, leaning down. Peter looked up dully, ever-present look of despair clear on his countenance.

"Why do you have to look after me?" he asked sulkily. Loki grimaced. This is why he hated kids most of the time.

"Everyone else has business they must attend to."

"So I'm stuck with you...Crazy Uncle Loki." he grumbled. Ok, Loki. Breathe...don't strangle him. He had been promised by the Avengers team that if he hurt a hair in Peter's head, he would be killed in the most painful ways possible. Natasha was quite the mother hen when she wanted to be.

"Crazy? I prefer...high-functioning sociopath."

"What does sociopath mean?"

"...Why don't you go watch the television, Peter?"

"Okay." came the dull reply.

Loki watched the boy as he munched on Cheez-It's and sipped juice on one of the many large couches in the media room. Curious, he thought, how very similar the look of hopelessness on Peter's face was to his own in childhood. He felt a pang of pity for the child. It was like watching himself...

Later that night, Loki was putting Peter to bed. He had been given strict instructions from Natasha to make sure that he went to bed at exactly 8. Loki would have to read to him until 8:30, whereupon he would tuck the boy in, and turn out the light. It was routine.

He hurried Peter up the stairs, following reluctantly. The child had just finished his bath, and was now clad in dinosaur pajamas. He climbed into his bed, pulling his quilts around him. They were a gift from Natasha, who had gotten them while visiting her homeland of Russia.

Peter looked at Loki expectantly as he took a seat in the chair by the bed. Loki gave him a mildly irritated look.

"What do you wish for me to read to you, child?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Uncle Clint finished Harry Potter last night...I don't have a book..."

Loki rolled his eyes, then looked down at the small bookcase by his feet. Looking through, he pulled out a thin volume.

"Winnie The Pooh?"

Peter shook his head.

"That's for little kids."

"You are little."

"No I'm not!" Peter protested. Loki glared, his patience waring thin. He had never really liked humans, much less little ones. He stood.

"Fine, read to yourself, Peter." he began to head towards the door.

"Wait!"

Loki turned.

"What?"

"...Tell me a story about that Asgard place."

This piqued Loki's interest.

"Very well..." he sat back down, crossing his legs, making himself comfortable. "There was once a mighty, brave king in Asgard. He was well-liked by his people.

This king had two sons- one was brave and arrogant, the other was quieter and intelligent. Both were eager to please their father, so that one day, they may become the king of Asgard. They cared for each other, but they both knew that one day, only one could take the throne.

There was a problem. The older brother, who was brave and strong was the golden child of the family; He could do nothing wrong. All of Asgard adored this boy, and thought him a huge success. But the younger brother...a magician, could do nothing but wrong. He was very different from his brother, and as time passed, he grew increasingly jealous. This brother believed that the elder was looking down on him, trampling his faith in ever becoming king himself...

Finally, the day came when his father had decided to crown the older brother king of Asgard...leaving the younger feeling defeated. All he wanted to prove that he was his brother's equal..." Loki trailed off, eyes glazing. The wound had healed, but the scar was still there. He still resented Thor. When a few minutes had passed in silence, Peter said quietly, "What happened then...?"

Loki snapped out of his thoughts, then smiled ruefully. "The younger brother found his family had lied to him. He wasn't even related to any of them. He was a half-rate adopted child of a frost giant, who fell into the depths of despair and revolted against them...which landed him far, far away. There, he let his wounds heal, and became a stronger person that way."

"Poor him..." said Peter sleepily. He was beginning to drift off.

"Indeed." Loki said quietly. He stood, pulling Peter's blankets up, then heading to the door, flipping off the lights.

"G'night, Uncle Loki..." mumbled the child. Loki turned to the boy, a smile lingering on pale lips.

"Goodnight, Peter." he shut the door, feeling like a tremendous weight had been lifted from his chest just then. What was this feeling...? Loki had no idea. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling or not, however good it felt.

The god headed for his room just down the hall, slipping off the green v-neck and jeans he had been wearing, then proceeded to put on his dark green pajama set. He sighed, combing out his hair and allowing to fall how it would. Loki clapped, and the lights flickered off. He pressed a button on his stereo system, which then began to softly play his favorite classical. Smiling a bit to himself, he closed his eyes and began to drift off...

He awakened some time later to a sniffling noise, and a much warmer bed. What the...? Loki groaned, opening his eyes as a thunderous boom shook the windows. Beside him, Peter's tiny form was curled up, latched onto the god's lithe body. A tiny sniffling sound could faintly be heard despite the deafening sound of rain pelting the windows of Stark Tower. Sighing, Loki looked down beside him. "Peter...?" he groaned crankily, pulling back the blankets a bit. "What in the Nine Realms are you doing in my bed?" The God of Mischief was NOT pleased that his beauty rest was being disturbed.

"I'm sorry..." came a mumbled response as a particularly large lightening bolt streaked across the sky. A thunderstorm...Loki was not very fond of them, though not afraid. He simply didn't like the god associated with them. However, this was not one of his brother's storms. It lacked a certain, implacable quality that usually went with Thor's.

"You are scared of a little storm?" asked Loki, arching a perfect eyebrow.

"N-n-no I'm not..." mumbled the child as he clung to his adoptive uncle's shirt. The man sighed a bit, then hesitantly stroked the boy's hair. Peter clung to him, burying his face in his chest. Loki stiffened, unmoving for a few moments before wrapping his arms around his...nephew. Yes, his nephew.

'Dear gods,' he thought. 'Am I beginning to be attached?'

The child cuddled up to him, and smiled. "Thank you, Uncle Loki."

"Ah...you're...welcome."

After a while, Peter had drifted to sleep in his arms. Loki glanced down, feeling a smile tugging at his lips.

"Goodnight once again, young Peter."


	2. Feeling

**Thunder cracked overhead, rain pelting their bodies. Mud smeared Cap's face as he snarled, pushing himself up. Tony was down for the count, his suit blown to pieces throughout a nearby cave. Steve picked up his shield, not feeling the many bruises and cuts on his body, nor the hail that began to fall on his back, already chilled to the bone.**

"You idiot. You haven't changed a bit in 70 years, Captain Rogers." The Red Skull spat, his saliva thick with congealed blood. "This is where we say goodbye, Captain." He held the gun up, pointing it at his head. Steve's eyes widened, too weak to keep his shield up. He felt like he was in Brooklyn again, being beaten in a back alley by some big shot idiot. This time, he knew this was the end. Here he was...he was going to die. Steven Rogers, 93 years old, would die, shot down by his greatest foe. He would never see his son again, never hear Tony call him 'Capsicle' again...his blue eyes were filled with sorrow in that moment, not fear. Goodbye, Peter. Goodbye, Tony. Goodbye, Avengers...Goodnight, America.

Morning came quickly at Stark Tower, it seemed, Loki awakening, feeling stiff all over. He stretched, cracking his neck and back. His eyes watered at the light streaming through the window, making little rainbows on the black carpet. Beside him, Peter shifted, brown eyes opening slowly.

"Pops...?"

A pang of guilt shot through Loki, as he was forced to tell him the painful truth.

"No, Peter. No one is home yet."

Now more awakened, the boy's face fell.

"Oh, sorry..." he mumbled, slipping out of bed. Loki stood, putting on his custom-made rabbit skin slippers.

"Come, time for breakfast..." Loki paused, then smirked. "Peter, go get dressed. We will be going out."

"Going out?"

"The Midgardian term would be 'brunch'."

Peter's eyes lit up, a smile splitting across his face.

"Go on." said the god, sounding mildly annoyed.

"Yes sir!" he chirped, galloping off to his room. Loki smirked, walking off to his bathroom.

Less than an hour later, Loki was in his usual Midgardian clothing- dressed to the nines in a smart suit, which cost enough to feed a middle-class family for at least a month. Peter wore his favorite Captain America tee, and a pair of jeans. In other words- they looked like complete opposites.

"Jarvis," said Loki as the began to head out the door, "We are out to brunch. We should be back around noon." Handy that Tony had left his platinum card at the tower.

As they stepped out the door, flocks of reporters mauled them. Peter, though used to it, was overwhelmed. "Uncle Lo-"

"Peter! How do you feel about having your parents missing?!"

"Who is taking care of you the best?"

"Peter, tell us about life amongst the Avengers!"

"Excuse me..." Loki interjected smoothly, the edge in his voice dangerous. The reporters, however, paid no attention to him. Relentlessly, they came at the little boy, whose eyes were wide and confused. It was then that the god snapped. From his pocket, he drew a silver device, which he pressed to the chest of one reporter. The man convulsed, then fell to the ground, unconscious. He smirked, looking at the other reporters. "Boo." he said. They withdrew, all in a wordless shock. Loki took Peter's hand, leading him away to the sleek Mercedes by the building.

"Uncle Loki?"

"Yes, Peter?" he asked softly.

"Do you know how to drive a car?"

"..."

Ten minutes, and an eventful walk later, a god and a gifted young boy walked into a small cafe. Loki himself enjoyed breakfast here every Wednesday with Tasha and Pepper, where they would have their 'girl talk'. Long story.

Loki strode up to the counter with Peter, smiling deviously.

"Good morning. I'll have the usual." the girl behind the desk blushed. It seemed that the hearts of Midgardian women were much softer when it came to handsome young men. If he did say so himself...

"Yes sir." she said shyly.

"Also, my nephew would like the pancakes and scrambled eggs. Bacon on the side." he delicately placed a bottle of orange juice on the counter.

"Coming right up, sir." Loki handed her the card, as she beeped in the juice and passed the card back, looking mildly surprised. She handed them their order number, and they strode off.

Peter giggled, looking up at Loki.

"What is it?"

"Nothin...do you always make girls blush?"

The god smirked down at his nephew, ruffling his hair.

"Migardian women like the gentleman type, young Peter." they sat at at table by the window.

"Pops is a gentleman."

Loki raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.

"I'm sure he is, Peter."

The boy grinned toothily at the older, not knowing the effect that it had on him. It softened his heart just the slightest bit.

"Hey, Uncle Loki?"

"Hmm?" his eyes glazed, spacing off.

Peter took a long sip of orange juice, which left a juicy residue on his upper lip. The boy wiped it off, scrunching up his nose a bit as he asked, "Soo...Dad has Pops, and Aunt Tasha has Uncle Bucky, Uncle Clint and Uncle Bruce are kinda cuddly with Darcy...but what about you?"

The god paused for a few moments, smirking to himself.

"Well, young Peter, I have-"

"263! Order 263!"

"Our food!" Peter cheered.

Loki shook his head, sighing, then stood.

"Come, let us get our breakfast." He strode up to the counter, picking up a tray and utensils, as well as the food. Who DID he have? In his heart, the answer was obvious, but his mind was too vain to realize it. 'No one.' he decided mentally, bitterly. He set the tray down at the table, watching Peter sit down and take his plate, digging in happily. How carefree he was now, distracted from his burdens. That, or choosing to ignore them and look content anyways. Loki picked up his coffee and sipped it thoughtfully.

"You don't have food?" asked Peter incredulously.

"Hn?"

The boy pointed to the coffee cup, seemingly shocked.

"Is that all you're going to have?"

"It's all I need." said Loki dismissively. The young genius frowned, then sectioned off a piece of his pancake and a bit of bacon.

"You have to eat to be healthy and strong." Replied the child, sounding much like a chiding parent. "So eat!" Loki suppressed the urge to laugh, instead, he arched an eyebrow and looked uncaring.

"You need it more. You're a growing HUMAN child. I am an adult, and a god." Peter scowled, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly, giving his best 'Cap Glare' (for which he was infamous). Loki refused for a few minutes longer, before giving into the child's wishes, carefully eating the pancake. Upon watching him eat, the boy grinned toothily in approval. Loki glared with false annoyance, which only caused the child to smile wider.

As Loki continued to drink his coffee, the cellphone Stark had provided buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out with irritation, he picked up.

"Yes?"

"Loki! Get back to Stark Tower!"

Black Widow. By the sounds in the background, whatever was going n sounded big. Nonetheless, he asked in a snarky tone, "Why should I?"

"Now is NOT the time to be like this, you prick." she sounded strained, if not mildly panicked.

"Fine." he hung up, finished his coffee off, then stood. "Come, Peter. Miss Romanoff wants us back." The little boy looked up from his breakfast, bits of his breakfast stuck to his face.

"What's happening?"

Loki wiped the boy's face with a napkin, his brows knitting.

"I don't know."

Peter looked at his 'uncle' with worried eyes, standing. Loki grabbed his hand, hurrying him out of the cafe. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of stressed out, pissed off Avengers to deal with AGAIN. One time was enough.

They rushed down the crowded streets of New York as a light drizzle bean to fall. Somehow this put Loki more on edge, as if an omen for what was awaiting them.

When finally they arrived back at the tower, both out of breath, they stepped through the elevator doors to a room full of grim, tense looking people.

"What is going on?" asked Loki as he stepped in, Peter in tow.

"Peter..." said Natasha, leaning down, her hands on his slim shoulders.

"We found your fathers."


	3. Farewells

The hospital was busy, as hospitals usually were. Doctors and nurses walked around with purpose. People sat with glazed looks in waiting areas, some busing themselves with phones and iPods. Others looked at magazines with little interest. The whole place had the distinct reek of hand sanitizer and sickness.

Peter clung to Loki's arm, looking worried. Despite the comforts of the other Avengers, somehow, Loki held a special sort of place in his heart.

Natasha, Pepper and Bucky walked in silence in front of the group, while Loki, Peter, and Clint walked in the middle, with Bruce and Thor silently bringing up the back. Hallway after white-washed hallway they walked, until finally reaching a large room. Peter clung to Loki for dear life, trembling in fear. The nurse eventually stopped in front of a door, and opened it quietly.

The room had the typical white walls, with small side tables beside the two hospital beds in the room. The windows were opened, letting the faint breath of fall air drift in. The clouds had parted to let the golden light of afternoon shine through the windows, casting it's light across the beds and the faces of Peter's parents.

Tony lay propped up on pillows, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

"Finally. You guys took long enough."

It was as if a great weight had been lifted as he spoke, an almost audible sigh of relief passing through all of the Avengers. Peter let go of Loki's hand, running up to his father's side, large, brown eyes filling with tears.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, sport." Tony reached over and patted his head. Upon turning, there was another wave of tenseness. Pepper gaped.

"Tony, what happened to your arm?" she asked stiffly, hands balling into fists. He sighed, turning to her. "Blasted off. Red Skull is a real bi-"

Just in time, Bruce covered Peter's ears. Peter, of course had heard this word before, though Steve certainly didn't approve. The boy glanced up at Bruce, who offered a pitying smile. After a few minutes, his ears were uncovered. It was then that he spoke.

"Dad, your arm is gone?"

Tony shrugged, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I can't make a new, cooler one. With Stark technology." Peter still frowned, hugging his adopted father tightly.

"Be more careful..." he mumbled, burying his face in the hospital gown.

As all of this was going on, Loki watched, feeling strangely jealous. For what reason, he was unsure. Was it the fact that Peter had a father who loved him and he loved, or was it that Loki was no longer the one he paid attention to? The trickster turned away on his heel, slipping away from the group quietly. As he was about to exit the room, he saw the faint glint of red, silver and blue metal from behind drawn curtains. Curious, the god slipped unnoticed through the curtain.

The small room created by curtains was mostly darkened, the voices from the other side of the room somewhat muffled. A heart monitor beeped now and then, by the bedside of a figure wrapped in bandages.

Captain America, despite all of his healing abilities, was not well in the slightest. His face was peaceful, though it held some sorrow. So defenseless and weak looking, but with a certain air of courage. Loki's mind flashed back to Asgard, where only a year or so previously, his own father had laid in a similar fashion. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart, placing a thin, pale hand on Steve's forehead. The warmth of magic flowed through his fingers, tips glowing the pinkish orange of sunset. Steve's features slackened a bit, seemingly relaxing. A moment later, he removed his hand, and turned swiftly from the curtain-room, and out into the white-washed hallway.

Peter couldn't exactly grasp the term of 'coma'. All he knew was that his Pops was in one, and the doctors said that he might be for a while. Dad said that Pops was just taking a really long nap for a while.

But he was confused by this. Pops had already taken a nap for a long time, so why did it happen again? He heard some of the other Avengers talking in hushed voices, sometimes. Topics frequently touched on questions about how long Steve could sleep this time...this would be followed by a somber silence, until someone would finally change the subject. It was then that young Peter would retreat to his room and play with his toys, feeling as if a weight was pressed to his chest. Not only that, but Loki was hardly ever about anymore. He was the one person Peter felt that he could talk to, and feel assured that they wouldn't talk down to him too much. Even if Peter didn't understand some things, he certainly wasn't on the same level as a normal five year old. It was no small wonder, as most of his time was spent with Dad or Uncle Bruce.

At the moment, however, Peter was wandering the halls of the tower, in search of his 'Uncle'. The rest of the Avengers were going about their usual business, too busy to bother with the boy. After all, both his fathers were still bedridden. Peter was lucky to discover that Loki was in the small library, a leather-bound book with crumbled, singed pages in hand. He observed for a moment, then stepped through the oak door. This was the one room with little technology, and thus must have been awfully comfortable for Loki, reminding him of his quarters back in Asgard.

Peter slowly approached the god, who, though seeming thoroughly engrossed in his book, looked up the moment he stepped in.

"Ah...young Peter." he said smoothly. The boy shifted uncomfortably, before walking over towards him.

"Uncle Loki..." he started quietly, hesitant. "That story you told me the other night...was the young prince you?" The man was silent for a long moment, emerald eyes averted.

"Indeed it was." he whispered, staring off into space. Another long pause. Then a smile.

"But that is history, Peter." he picked the boy up, into his lap. This was a whole different side to himself that he only graced Peter with seeing. They had a connection in a strange sense, akin to that of not only father and son, but of brothers, allies. Both adopted. Both carrying the burden of an unclear past. Both fighting for the attention and approval of their fathers...though Loki had to fight much, much harder, and for different reasons. Peter simply wanted to impress his fathers, as any other boy of his age would want to.

Loki patted his head. "I do believe it is time for your nap, young one."

"But Loki, I-"

"Ah ah ah. You must have rest to become a strong young man." scooping him from his lap into his arms, Loki carried the boy off to his room. The job once again fell upon him, as everyone else was busy, or in the case of Tony and Steve, incapacitated.

He pushed open the door to the boy's room, flicking a switch on the wall. As he did so, the shutters closed, letting only meager light trickle into the room. This had many times proved useful, as Loki found the silly pulley shutters difficult to manage. He placed the child into his bed, pulling up the light blue comforter and Russian quilt. With the affection of a father, he patted Peter's head, then began to turn to leave.

"Wait-" A small hand latched onto his coat. The god turned.

"Yes, young Parker?"

"Won't you read to me again?" There was a long pause, before Loki responded.

"...of course." He took a seat as he had before, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Peter nestled back into the patterned pillows.

"How about a...song?"

The child seemed to ponder for a moment, before turning brown doe-eyes back onto him.

"Alright."

Loki smiled a bit, then began in a warm baritone,

"Wash up,

Bowl of mush,

Look I made America.

Hush, hush.

Don't don't rush.

Time for quiet,

Time to brush."

The trickster's voice was soft and low, lulling. Peter's eyelids began to droop as he continued,

"Brown wine, turpentine,

Everything will be just fine,

Sleep now,

Never fear...

All of your animals are here...

Counting sheep,

I lay me down to sleep.

But I see a sheep who will not leave...

From the back, they catch him in a trap.

Hit his head, and send him off to bed..."

At this point the boy was practically asleep, arm around a battered teddy. He smiled, seeming to not even noticed the bizarre lyrics to the song. Such childlike innocence he still held...it almost made Loki feel bad.

"Uncle Loki...?"

"Yes?"

"You'll always be here, right?"

Loki's heart gave a pang of guilt as he lied smoothly, "Of course, Peter."

Sleepily smiling, his adopted nephew slipped into a peaceful slumber amongst plush animals and fluffed pillows. Standing once more, Loki leaned down and placed a feather-soft kiss upon his forehead.

"Sleep well."

He turned, strode out, and closed the pristine white door with a soft 'click'. From beside him, he heard a voice inquire, "Are you prepared, brother?"

"I am no brother of yours, Odinson. Let us depart now." The Prince replied in a bored, flat tone. "I am done with my goodbyes."

"The punishment that awaits you will be anything but pleasant, Loki." regret tinged the voice now, genuinely sad.

"I am fully aware."

"Then... let us leave promptly."

"Yes, let's."

* * *

A/N: All credit for the song in this chapter goes to Amanda Palmer. I next chapter will be the last one! Hope you enjoyed. uwu


	4. Years

Days passed, months, years. Seasons changed, people changed, and yet in a way, a small part of Peter still felt the same. Still a child betrayed by his closest friend, though he had been an adult. Thanks to this, there was a constant mistrust Peter had for people since Loki's abandonment ten years previously. It left him with nightmares and an empty place in his chest.  
But the nightmares were by far the worst. He would awaken in the dead of night, sweat dripping from his brow, tears in his eyes, the image of a man chained to a rock, lips sewn tightly shut, moaning in pain as acid dripped onto his face. His flesh would peel away, the acrid scent if burning flesh filling the small cavern. He skin would heal once more, only to be once again burned by the poison.  
The end was the most terrible part. The man would turn, eyes wide and brimming with tears. After a long struggle, the stitches would loosen, to let the man screech loudly, then look directly at Peter.  
"Help..." he would say in his whispery voice. "Peter!" the venom would once again drip upon him, and once again would he scream, his voice heavy with agony. With regret. In that moment, Peter would make the click of recognition as to who it was. But as fast as it was there, his realization was gone. There he would be again, wide awake in bed, his alarm buzzing on his bedside table. Whereupon he would groan, roll out of bed, and proceed to ready himself for school. As per request of Steve, who had woken but a week after Loki's disappearance, Peter began attending a nearby private high-school. There he had befriended Wade and Gwen, though it had taken a while for the trust to build between them. Of course, Wade was so relentless in his attempts to be friends (and more), that it had been unavoidable.  
It was safe to say at this point, that Peter's life was as normal as it would ever be. As normal a life as a child of two Avengers could be, that is. Happy, even. With the rate he was going at in school, achieving high honors was cake. Wade occasionally teased that the only reason he was getting amazing grades was because he could bat his eyelashes and wave a little money around, and the teachers would do whatever he asked. This, of course, resulted in a firm punch in the gut, and a rather pissed off Peter.  
"Aw, c'mon, Petey. No need to be so uptight." Wade would tease, and Peter would sigh, then begrudgingly, smile softly. Staying mad at him for any period of time was near impossible for him. Anyways, if Peter WAS mad at him, the anger would usually subside before one of their study sessions at his house. Wade was not known for having a good GPA, and thus, many of his teachers had practically begged Peter to tutor him. Thus, the sessions began.  
It was quite the surprise, however, when Peter and Wade arrived at Stark Tower one sunny afternoon to find a body sprawled across the floor in his living room floor. The younger of the two froze, staring in horror at the blood smeared across the glass door, and the blood that was currently staining the hardwood floor. What further horrified him was who he recognized the figure was.  
"Woah, Petey. I knew I was a weirdo, but I never thought you guys kept dead enemies in your house." jabbed the merc, who seemed to be cheery as ever. Peter ignored him, falling to his knees beside the man, whose black locks were tangled and dirty, face streaked with filth and blood. His clothes must have once been elaborate and beautiful, though were now in tatters, golden thread frayed. His lips were chapped and scarred, blood caked around the threads that held his mouth sewn shut.  
Peter shuddered, eyes going wide. It was the man from his dreams...no, not only that...There was something disturbingly familiar about him. He reached out, placing a hand on said figure's placid face. His skin, marred with scars and grime, felt cold and dead to the touch. Peter checked for a pulse, feeling panic rise in his throat.  
"Dummy, get the first aid kit..." his voice shook as he spoke, "JARVIS, pull up a how-to on removing sutures."  
"Right away, sir." said the AI in an overly calm voice. Peter turned to Wade, a desperate look in his eyes.  
"Help me get him onto the couch."  
"Okie-Dokie-Lokie." he chirped, hoisting up the body with Peter's help. Something halfway between a groan and a mewl escaped the unconscious man's lips. Dummy came wheeling in, holding a box. The teen grabbed it, the proceeded to pull his tablet out of his bag. JARVIS had opened a how-to, as requested. Slowly, the man was beginning to awaken. They needed to hurry.  
Peter set to work quickly, cleaning up the affected area and the skin around it. He began to remove the thread, stitch by stitch. The man cried out, seeming to shift in and out of consciousness.  
"Shh," Peter soothed, gently tugging out the last of the sutures. Sobbing, the man clenched his fists, teary emerald eyes opening and staring up. They seemed unseeing, so far gone that it made Peter's heart ache. Wade watched in rare silence; to the point where even the boxes had shut up.  
"Peter," said the man, voice nearly breaking as a weak smile spread across his face. Blood trickled from the edges as he did so. "I'm back..." he whispered, then lost consciousness.

Loki awakened to the usual throbbing pain. Over the past years, he had become accustomed to it. He was, however, quite shocked when he slowly opened his eyes, to find two faces looming rather close. One of such faces was completely covered by a red and black spandex mask, the wearer appearing rather amused despite. The second face he saw happened to have strangely familiar brown doe eyes. He wore chunky black glasses, further magnifying said eyes. Worry was written all over his face.  
Peter...  
The trickster shifted, attempting to sit up. A gloved hand pressed against his chest, holding him down.  
"Ah-ah-ah. No getting up just yet, Mister Cadaver." Said the masked man with unmistakable glee. Had he been well, he would have given him a nasty glare. However, he was not. Loki slumped back against the cool leather couch, eyes shutting tight in pain.  
"It's all we can do for now," said the other teen hesitantly. "Until I can pull more up on the necessary medical procedures and buy more ibuprofen."  
Loki just nodded numbly, already slipping once more into unconsciousness. He felt too far-gone to stay awake. Panicking, the teen began to speak soft to him.  
"So, what's your name? Where are you from?" With the help of his masked companion, they began to lift him from the couch.  
"Loki." replied the god, voice cracking a bit. "Loki Laufeyson." It was so whispery and unused that boy nearly didn't hear him.  
"I'm Peter. Peter Parker." Replied the younger with an awkward smile. They were going up a flight of stairs, thought Loki vaguely.  
"I know." He mumbled in reply as his broken body met the softness of a real bed. Comforters were pulled around him, plush and warm. The trickster shuddered in nostalgia.  
"Sleep." said Peter quietly, dabbing at an opening wound on Loki's face. "We'll help you soon." Nodding, the god dropped off...though, through the thick fog of sleep, he could have sworn he heard someone shout.  
"Peter, I'm home!"

a/n: my first time ever trying to write for Wade. orz I tried!

This story is more of a prelude to the rest of the story. Any suggestions for plot twists? Write a review or pm me. Suggestions are much love. Thanks!

-Matt


	5. Histories and Scars

It was relentless; a never-ending haze of pain in every cell of his being. Lethargic, he would fade in and out of consciousness, occasionally feeling a cool hand against his brow, or a soft, sweet whisper. Initially, he believed it to all be a long, sick dream. Maybe he would wake up- really wake up- and find himself curled in his furs back in Asgard, a fire roaring in the hearth. But those days were long, long gone...

Peter had had a lot of explaining to do when his dad had seen the mess on the couch, not to mention the streak of red across some of the carpeting. Tony was FAR from impressed about the blood. Steve had nearly fainted at the sight, himself. He had insisted that Loki be taken to a proper hospital with proper doctors, but Peter had insisted that they were more than capable of taking care of him. Hospitals made him uncomfortable, not to mention all the unpleasant memories that went with visiting them...there had been those few weeks where Loki was gone, and his fathers were still hospitalized. It had been nightmarish for the five year old boy. Even now, he cringed at the thought of that time.

So he had taken charge of Loki's health, which much help from Bruce and JARVIS. The wounds left had been ugly, and while healing at an inhuman rate, still were slow for a god. It was far from helpful that some were old and infected, though his captors had little reason to keep him in prime condition. It was disgusting, leaving the teen with a bad taste in his mouth.

However, it wasn't until nearly a week later that Peter realized the extent of the god's wounds. He had finally awoken fully, discombobulated and still drowsy, and smelling of medical supplies and earth. He made a face, wrinkling his nose at the stench while Peter walked in.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." He said with a smirk, all too similarly to Tony. He tossed a towel at the man, who was currently struggling to sit up.

"I'm betting you want to take a bath? You've been out for a couple of days. Looks like they didn't bathe you, right?"

Loki glared over, namely out of exhaustion. "I was bathed once in a while, thank you." The god's voice was husky, threatening to break as he spoke in a near whisper. He fumbled to his feet, only to collapse on the floor. The teen stepped forward, taking pity and helping him up. Strange, how feather-light he seemed.

Peter assisted him in removing his clothes, slowly, carefully peeling the few layers Steve had insisted he wear.

Loki's body was still ravaged. Bruises, some yellowed and sallow, others still deep purple. Angry, red kelliod scars marred his back, reaching their craggy fingers across the porcelain of his skin. Peter's eyes continued to wander down the older man's body as surreptitiously as one could manage.

As the teen assisted the man out of his pants, there was a small cry of pain from the other.

His legs were just as bad as his back. He had severe chafing around his ankles and mid-thigh. Hand-shaped bruises had been left on Loki's narrow hips, now fading into yellow-green, still deep purple towards the center. It was then that, as Loki shifted, a line of blood trickled down his thigh. Not only were the wounds themselves awful, but his form had been left practically emaciated. Peter swallowed thickly, voice strained when he finally spoke.

"Let's get you to the bathroom."

The hot water felt nice against his chilled skin, therapeutic to his injuries. Loki hadn't even protested when Peter began to wash him up, running lean fingers through his tangles of hair. Luckily it hadn't matted, or become unmanageable, though it nearly reached the center of his back now. Peter had mumbled something about it being annoyingly thick, but had remained otherwise silent.

Loki sat in the tub, motionless, his knees drawn to his chest. Peter spoke.

"That blood." His voice sounded pinched.

"Depredation, to put it bluntly."

"Oh."

There was a long, almost awkward silence. The water sloshed as Loki stretched his legs out. He was matter-of-fact about the situation.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"It's happened before?"

"It was a horse."

"Oh."

"Believe it or not, young Parker, I too have children. One of which was the result of such an event."

"You have kids?"

"Four."

Another stretch of tense quietness. Loki stood, water trickling down his lean body. Peter glanced away, handing him a towel. The god took it, grateful, and wrapped it around his narrow, jutting hips, as Peter lead him out. He continued the strain of conversation.

"Who are they, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, Peter, you are still so very young."

"Eh?"

Loki offered a thin smile, and said simply, "Do read up on your Norse mythology. Especially when you're acquainted with gods."

Peter could only nod dumbly as Loki shut the door to his room, changing.


	6. Deal Making

"Where is Loki?"  
The voice boomed through the golden hall, which glinted in the low light.  
"I know not where, father." replied a quieter voice, one deep, though brittle- for this particular voice, it perhaps, sounded uncharacteristically weak.  
"Find him. Bring him back here to us...or..." The first voice paused for a moment, then continued in a much softer tone, "I fear we may have to do the worst."  
There was a terrible, empty silence for a long moment.  
"Yes, father."

The world had changed a lot in ten years, and there was much catching up to do. Of course, Loki's health was top priority, but that hardly stopped him from coaxing an unwilling Peter to show him around New York; from broadway shows to art museums.  
This of course, left a certain Wade Wilson a jealous third wheel.  
He slumped over on the dingy park bench, pigeons cocking their heads like the little fiends they were.  
[Probably plotting to take over New York]  
(Maybe they're working for Loki)  
About ten feet to his side, an Asgardian god and the object of his affections stood in front of a rather expensive store, the former ogling over the Pea coats on display, seeming quite interested in the white one with golden buttons. The merc turned his gaze up to the sky, deciding that the evil pigeons were no longer entertaining, and watching the god and his almost-but-not-really-boyfriend look at clothes was annoying.  
[White isn't his color, honestly.]  
(Since when did you start knowing fashion?)  
[Since I started reading the Sears catalog]  
(Oh for the love of God.)  
"Wade, we're going in. Be back in ten minutes?"  
"Roger that, Cap'n Petey."  
[Oh, real funny there. That wasn't even a joke, man.]  
Wade rolled his eyes.  
"It was totally a joke." he muttered, continuing to observe the sky. It was winter, and it was New York, but the way the clouds in the distance rolled in, dark and thick like smoke clouds struck him as a bit odd. He shivered, chilled to the bone in a way that had nothing to do with the frigid weather, briefly unnerved by how familiar they looked to him...no, he had certainly seen those clouds before...he just couldn't put his finger on where.  
[Better stop there. Don't want to get too deep.]  
(It'll be like that time I managed to remember-)  
[NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE. NO. We are NOT going there.]  
(Ok, ok...hey, look at that pigeon. What the hell is it doing?)  
Unfortunately, being Wade Wilson, he was cursed with the inability to focus on something as boring as the clouds for more than a minute or two. Promptly, he began once again pondering how Loki might be using pigeons as his henchmen in exchange for little crumbs of bread. It amused him long enough for Peter and Loki to walk out of the store, calling for.  
"C'mon, Wade!" Peter called, gesturing for the mercenary to follow. He frowned, stood, and followed after the two.  
"But Petey, I wanted to tend to the pigeons. I ain't doin' nothin' bad." he muttered in response, glad neither Loki nor Peter caught the statement. Probably better for all of them, though it still cracked Wade up.  
Unbeknownst to any of the party, a rather tall blond-haired man followed behind, about thirty feet back; he walked with a cane, and seemed nonchalant enough in the busy New York streets. His face was an easy face to miss, or simply forget upon seeing. Rather useful, it was. Especially to it's owner.  
The blond man smiled, though there was no light behind it; it was the smile of a guilty man, or perhaps, a man about to do something he was less than proud of.  
"Dear brother..." he spoke, voice a low rumble. "I am so sorry."

It was late afternoon when the merc left the tower, hands shoved in the pockets of the coat he wore. The sun was already setting, leaving the sky ablaze in the west. Not that it made much difference, it being NYC. The lights glowed a little more- big deal. And anyways, it wasn't like he payed any attention to the sunset very often.  
As Wade turned down an alley– one he frequently took to get to his apartment quicker– a  
heavy hand fell upon his padded shoulder.  
[Oh shit. Not today please.]  
Turning fast, Deadpool held up his hands as if to defend himself (or, perhaps, look nonthreatening. Ha ha ha. Right.)  
"Look man, I don't want what you're selling, ok?"  
"I make no attempt to sell you anything, other than information, Wade Wilson." The blue eyes of the God of Thunder looked at him with curiosity.  
[Oh. Ohhh. Ok.]  
"Heeey there Pikachu. Whatcha want?" Wade dropped his hands, falling into a more relaxed stance. The God relaxed as well, seemingly relieved.  
"Hello to you as well," he patted the other man's shoulder a little too hard, causing him to wince. "But now is no time for salutations, really. I must be brief. As you know, my brother, Loki, has escaped to Midgard once again. However much it pains me to do so, he must be returned to Asgard. It is my solemn duty to do so, but..." Thor hesitated.  
"Yeah?"  
"I need assistance. I can not simply walk into Stark Tower and take him, especially when he is in such a weak state. No doubt Steven and Anthony will attempt to stop me from doing so, as well...or even young Peter. I do not wish to make a large disturbance in this realm, nor cause disturbance with any of my allies...Therefore, how ever much it pains me to do so, Wade Wilson, I ask you to bring him to me as peacefully as you can."  
"What do I get outta the deal?" Deadpool cocked his head to the side, rubbing his chin.  
"Gold from the treasury of Asgard."  
[Gold = Money = tacos]  
Wade pretended to consider for a moment, though his mind was already set. Getting rid of Loki the boyfriend-stealing-creep AND tacos?  
[Oh hell yes.]  
"Done." He took the god's hand and shook, a grin creeping across his face.  
"Many thanks, Mr. Wilson. I shall expect him at the location this Saturday." The god passed him a slip of paper. "Here is the disclosed location and my contact information. Good luck to you."  
Wade was already walking away. "Yeah yeah. See ya then big boy." He left a rather disgruntled Thor standing in the alley, watching his receding back.  
"Until...then."


End file.
